


235 - Childhood Friends with Van

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 17:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17390663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: A non-request original fic about childhood friends, drunk parents, and Van McCann.





	235 - Childhood Friends with Van

You had moved away from your childhood town when you were only thirteen years old. Picking everything up and relocating was terrifying, but you loved your parents and were excited to live somewhere sunnier than Llandudno. They were always bound to keep ties to the place though. They were as thick as thieves with Mary and Bernie. All the late nights by the fire place wouldn't be easily forgotten by your parents. All the wine consumed and all the loud conversations you and Van listened to from the other side of the wall when you were meant to be asleep couldn't mean nothing.

Every now and then your parents flew back to see them, or they would fly to you. Flights were cheapest in the school term, so you never went with. You grew up and forgot what it was like to be in the McCann's warm, musical home. You didn't think about Van or any part of the seaside village. Going off to uni, establishing your own life, it took precedence over any attempt at immortalising a beautiful part of your childhood.

Halfway through your degree, at the age of twenty-three, a trip to Llandudno lined up with when you wanted to stay with your parents for a couple of weeks. They booked you a flight and Mary and Bernie were happy to set up another bed in the house Van had bought for them. You knew his band had worked out well for him, but you never went looking. Your musical tastes were firmly stuck in the 60s, 70s, and 80s. A product of Bernie's influence, probably. You hadn't even really seen a picture of Van for a couple of years. Last you knew, he was a skinny thing with a mop of soft hair and ripped jeans.

The flight back to the U.K. was long but you'd always been okay at sleeping wherever you needed to. A hired car ride later, you were at the house. Like it always did for your parents, everything picked up where it left off for you. Sunday roast dinner was made and you drank wine with your parents and Mary and Bernie. Records were played. The fire was stoked. It felt strange to be in the environment again at a vastly different age. You were one of the adults but still found yourself asking permission and being cautious. It made Mary laugh.

They were happy to see you. They said you were beautiful and had grown up so much. "They'll do that," your father said with a smile.

A little after midnight, they all went out the back for a smoke. You were curled up on the couch, comfortable and patting a dog you were told was Van's. You vaguely registered the end of the record, the white noise scratching. When that stopped, you wondered if someone had moved the needle. Everyone was outside. You were half asleep. The gentle heaviness in your body told you that you were safe, so you let your eyes stay closed.

You weren't sure how long you were napping for. Someone was standing over you, one knee on the couch as they pushed you awake.

"Wake up!" they called. Eyes open and focused, you looked up at Van. "Hey!"

Oh dear God, he was gorgeous and grinning. You sat up immediately and he stepped back. You bounced into his arms and he dramatically spun you around the room. You laughed in a stupid squealing sound that you had probably never made in your life.

"Hi," you said calmly as he placed you firmly on the ground.

"Look at you, love. All grown up," he said.

"Yeah. You too. Wow. You look like a proper adult."

Van laughed and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah… Can afford adult clothes and stuff, you know? You're…" He paused to look you up and down. You pushed him and he grabbed both hands and held them. "Y/N. You got fuckin' beautiful,"

"Are you saying I wasn't as a kid?"

"Bit weird if I said you were, now," he replied with a smirk.

"I guess. But, thank you. You're not too bad looking either. Grew into your teeth, huh?"

"Wow… Still mean, I see," Van said, letting your hands go with a sassy force.

You smiled and return to your nest on the couch. Van sat next to you and the dog happily sat on his lap, nudging her head into his hands for pats.

"You just get here?" he asked you.

"Yeah. Had dinner and sat around, like usual. The others are outside,"

"Yeah, I know. Went out before. Fuckin' freezing, innit? Don't know how they stand it," he said with a laugh.

"They're very drunk," you answered. Van nodded knowingly.

You caught up and listened to his wild life story. He had made good and taken on the world, but was still so evidently the same kid you hid in the shadows with, spying on the grown-ups and stealing the last of the wine from the bottles. His grins were the same. His unsettled hands were the same. His warmth was the same.

You couldn't remember if you had had a little girl crush on him; he existed in your world before you thought in romantic terms, really. But, sitting with your sides pressed closed, co-patting a fluffy puppy and chatting so fluently and easily, the feeling was overwhelming.

Van's head and yours both turned in sync as your parents crashed through the back door and loudly entered the kitchen.

"Van! Y/N! Help!" Mary yelled. She was laughing, drunk.

Following Van into the kitchen, you leaned against the door frame and assessed the situation. Mary and your mum were plonked on kitchen chairs. Bernie was searching through the cupboards for something. Your dad was leaning against the fridge, a little wobbly and grinning like a madman. So, so drunk.

"Whatdaya need help with Mary?" Van laughed.

"Run out of wine," Bernie replied for her.

"So…" Van prompted despite knowing exactly what they were requesting.

"So, pop down to the corner would ya, son?"

Bernie stood up as straight as he could, which wasn't very. Van was smirking. He looked back at you.

"The corner store don't sell wine, Da,"

"Ya smart. Figure it out," Bernie replied, pulling his wallet out and handing over cash. Van looked at it confused, then handed it back.

"Right. Come on, Y/N," Van said turning. You waved to the 'adults' and picked up your jacket on the way out.

…

Mary and Bernie didn't live in Llandudno anymore. Luckily, this meant there were many options for buying alcohol after hours. Walking through the car park of a late night supermarket, Van held his hand out to you, like he wanted you to hold it. Without thinking, you took it and let the feeling of happy pins and needles wash over you. He was quiet in the store, easily locating the wine and picking out a few bottles. Then, he led you to the candy.

"Still 'bout Malteasers?"

"Wow… Can't believe you remember that," you replied, nodding. Van let your hand go so he could reach out for a bunch of chocolate and sugar. "Let me carry something,"

"Nah," he replied. "I got it."

Van was a semi-reckless driver but it wasn't destructive due to his abilities. He had good reflexes and was aware of his surroundings. So, even though he went a little over the limit and took corners a little too fast, you never felt unsafe. He pulled into his parents' driveway and looked over at you.

"You're still a bit weird, Y/N,"

"What?" you replied, high pitched and reactive.

"Yeah. Still watch people all intense, don't cha?"

He got out the car and collected the bag from the boot.

The adults cheered upon his arrival in the kitchen.

"Van! Always such a good boy!" your mum said, hugging him and reaching up to pinch his cheeks. Mary snorted.

"He ain't been a good boy since he was four," she said.

"Alright, alright. Me and Y/N are gonna go hang. Yous keep the racket down, yeah?"

Van ushered you from the room, leaving the bubbly, cackling sounds of your family behind.

…

The house Van had bought his parents was large. Originally they had argued they didn't need such space, weren't used to such space. He wasn't having a bar of it. It was a five bedroom place. You had taken custody of the third, with your parents in the second. Van made four, and on his guest bed you spread out and swapped phones.

"You don't have many photos," you said.

"Nah. More about living in the moment," he replied and you believed him. “But still... I don’t know... Like, the lids take a lot of photos and go out and stuff. They like to go see the cities, you know what I mean? Not me," he told you. 

You laughed. A memory.

"Remember that time when we were really little and we had a joint holiday and everyone had to lie to you and say we were going to Toys R Us, 'cause you hated holidays?"

"Fuck, yeah," he said, laughing with you. "Screamed up a storm at the airport."

You'd forgotten all about that.

"So you just stay in the hotel when you're not, like, working?"

"Yeah. Tourin' has always been about the live shows, you know what I mean? Making people feel something. And I like meeting people. The people at the shows and interviewers and just people in different places. I don't know. Not much for sight-seein',"

"You've not changed a bit."

There was a moment of quiet where you both recalled times gone by. Van was lying on his stomach, his legs hanging off the side of the bed. His arms were folded under his head. He looked over at you, studying you carefully.

"You have... Changed, I mean,"

"Yes," you confirmed. He smirked.

"You got a boyfriend?" He had always been direct. "Or… girlfriend, or whatever," he added. Maybe he had changed; maybe he had learned about the world a little more.

"No. Do you have a girlfriend or boyfriend or whatever?"

He shook his head. You moved to be sitting cross-legged. Van copied your movement. There was a crash from downstairs. Something was broken. Someone sarcastically clapped.

"Do you have any questions for me?" he asked.

"No. Why? Do you have more questions for me?"

"Yes," he replied honestly. You made a motion for him to continue. "Did you miss me when you moved?"

"No," you said quickly. He smiled and wasn't hurt. "I was too little to feel like that, I think,"

"Yeah. Same. Never thought much about you." Van wriggled forward, knees touched. He took your hands from your lap and sat them palm up. He traced the lines in your skin. "Thinkin' about you now though," he whispered, not looking up.

There was a skip in the beat of your heart. There was a static heat that ran down your spine. A hyper awareness of his proximity, of his smell and the sharpness of his nose. Van looked up, locking you in eye contact.

He leaned in and gently pressed his lips to yours. It was quick and painfully innocent. He moved away only a tiny bit. You could feel him close and leaned in to press your forehead to his. It was permission and invitation and he kissed you again. Kissing back, it felt somehow long awaited despite the driving force of your feelings only coming into the world a few hours before.

Suddenly, a loud knocking on the door split you apart. Your mothers' harmonic giggling. Van cleared his throat, looked at you with a stormy expression, then moved to answer.

"Ladies," he greeted. The women looked from him to you, then at each again.

With a raised eyebrow, Mary whispered, "Told ya,"

"Told her what?" you asked from your place on the bed.

"We ran out of wine," your mother said.

"What? I got you three bottles," Van squeaked.

"Only one white though, love. Ya da just smashed it all over the floor," Mary said.

Van sighed and looked back at you. You shrugged. Another car ride, then.


End file.
